They drank. Nellie called for refills. The bartender poured. Nellie reached for her glass, but a smaller hand was there first and by the time she looked around, the drink snatcher was halfway across the room snatching at another drink. Corey turned and saw Carp gliding past a table with his left hand getting rid of Nellie’s empty glass while his right picked up someone’s whiskey. Corey sighed and reached for his gin.

Then he and Nellie leaned against each other. His knees gave way and he started to go down. She held him up for a moment. Then they both leaned against the bar.

Nellie said, “Just answer me one thing. Do I hafta put up with it?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, and wondered what she was talking about.

Her thick hand came down on the edge of the bar. “I’m gonna have a clear understanding with Mister Cloudman Rafer. He’s just gonna hafta mend his ways, that’s all. Wantsa climb up in them clouds, let him do it in a closet or someplace. Not sittin’ there on the goddam bed where I’m tryin’ to get some sleep.”

“Absolutely,” Corey mumbled.

“Sittin’ there on the bed, dippin’ that spoon and sippin’ all that cloud soup. It hits him and he gets to talkin’ all that talk. Just ain’t no way to shut him up, and some nights it goes on all night long. Only thing I’ll say for him, at least he never repeats himself. Except when he tells me the fairy tale—”

“What fairy tale?”

“Well, there’s this palace he’s gonna buy. A real palace, with everything in it only the best. With triple-size bathtubs so’s we can take baths together. And all kindsa colognes and talcum powders on the shelves. With sterling-silver toilet seats—”

“Say what?”

“I’m just tellin’ it like Rafer tells it. This fairy tale. What sorta worries me, it’s like he actually believes it. Keeps sayin’ he’s gonna buy that palace, and when I ask him where he’s gonna get the money, he starts to giggle like a loon. Says he won’t hafta work to get it. Says all he needs to do is make one fast grab because it’s all in one package.”

Corey shut his eyes tightly. A streak of bright light stabbed his liquor-soggy brain. He heard himself saying, “It takes a lotta dimes to buy a palace.”

“This ain’t dimes, the way he tells it. This is paper money and it comes to a million five.”

The streak of light stabbed deeper. He said, “Lemme hear that again.”

“A million five.” And then, through a hiccup, “He says it’s hidden somewhere.” She hiccuped again. “Just a fairy tale. It’s gotta be a fairy tale.”

“Sure,” Corey said.